The Words We Say
by souls.can.be.used.as.blankets
Summary: Kurt Hummel is graduating with every intention of leaving everything in Lima behind, including his boyfriend. Meanwhile, Blaine's got a camera, an annoying-as-hell big sister, and a number one hit song to convince him otherwise. Anderberry. Klaine.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello all! This is my very first fanfiction (though not my first time writing), so any constructive criticism is highly appreciated. A lot of this story is based on what I see floating around tumblr, but ultimately all the ideas are originally my own. With that being said, on with the show!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. If I did it'd be called Klaine and would consist of Kurt and Blaine being fluffy and NC-17-esque. It's for the best, really.**

* * *

><p>"Testing... is this thing on?"<p>

"It's on, Blaine."

"How do you know?"

"That's what the red light means. One of these days I won't be able to walk down the street without having a camera on me and it's important to know when they're _on_ or not, honestly-"

"Rachel. Shut up. And stop pointing the camera at you, this is _my _video. Now you just sit there and let me talk, and no commentary please."

"Fine. But I hope you know, I'm not happy about it. As an artist I'm used to being repressed, and to think that my very own brother-"

"Shut _up_ Rachel. Okay, where do I sit?"

"..."

"You can _talk_ you know. I was talking about your tendency to interrupt while I'm in the middle of making deeply moving speeches."

"..."

"Rachel?"

"..."

"I can _see_ you rolling your eyes at me, you know. I'm wearing my glasses."

"..."

"For crying out—I'm _sorry_. Now do your job as my director and tell me where my bowtie is going to look less blinding."

_Sigh._ "Over there. Right on the stool. I'm so happy I convinced them to paint this wall blue – works with your bowtie too. Okay now just shift a little bit to the left... perfect. Now, remind me why we're doing this?"

"Because I'm in love with Kurt Hummel, and it's about time he realize it."

"You are the most adorable-"

"_Ahem."_

"Right. Sorry. Rolling."

_Clears throat._ "Hi. I'm Blaine Anderson. Tomorrow is graduation day for the most important person in my life. For some odd reason, he's convinced himself that 'graduating' is enough of a reason for us to no longer be together." Well, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, you are wrong, and if publicly announcing it to the entire school won't convince you, I don't know what will. So here it is. Ten reasons why you're graduating shouldn't change _anything_ between us. And you know, now that I think about it, every single one of those reasons are conveniently conveyed by Katy Perry's number one hit _Teenage Dream_."

"_Blaine, _you could seriously not sound any more hokey right now, and this is coming from _me._"

"I'm officially ignoring you now Rachel. Moving on. Reason number one..."

* * *

><p><em>You think I'm pretty, without any makeup on.<em>

Evenings were extremely important for Kurt Hummel.

Mornings, granted, were fairly important too. He didn't just wake up and roll out of bed looking fabulous. There was an incredible amount of work that went into each outfit, colour coordination and planning and God forbid he where the same outfit twice a week. There was the day cream and the foundation and the powder and sometimes concealer – especially around flu season when he was more prone to breakouts (though he only really said that to make Mercedes feel better about the occasional zit – Kurt Hummel _never_ had breakouts). There was the hairstyle and the hairspray to go with the hairstyle and the accessories and the occasional bowtie to finish it off. It was a very involved process that had started when he was old enough to pick out his own clothes, though back then he'd relied on his esteemed advisory board (Business Woman Barbie, the Red and Blue Power Rangers, and Mr. Potato Head) for guidance. Occasionally he still looked to the drawer where the Red and Blue Power Rangers still lived, hidden in the corner with last spring's sweater vests, but their budding romance that had erupted when Kurt had turned seven had distracted them from their ability to distinguish between Navy Blue and Persian Blue, which was when Kurt made the executive decision to retire them from their day job and settle them down in a comfortable one bedroom suite at the bottom of his drawer. Years later and Kurt still didn't have the heart to move them.

But despite the importance of mornings, evenings would always be more important. Because between making sure Burt Hummel had more than bacon with a side of bacon for breakfast, packing his bags for school, and actually _doing _the aforementioned prep work, there was hardly any time for him to pick and choose the outfits, hairstyles, accessories and all. And the day cream simply had no effect without his nightly skin care routine. Maybe mornings were when the magic happened, but evenings were the fairy godmother to Kurt's impeccable style. Otherwise, he might as well go to school wearing a pumpkin.

So whenever his evening was interrupted by unforeseen circumstances (in this case, being locked in a janitor's closet until eight o'clock at night), it was usually fairly apparent the next morning. Because as much as Kurt valued his appearance, his father's health and his school work came first. All in all, he had a very legitimate reason for entering McKinley High looking like he'd just been attacked by a velociraptor. He'd actually entertained the idea of using that as a legitimate excuse, but not everyone could be trusted to be as stupid as Hudson and Karofsky and the rest of those Neanderthals on the football team.

"Kurt? What the hell happened to you?" Mercedes Jones was just slamming her locker shut as the boy opened his own, not meeting her eye.

"Oh the usual. English, then History, then Janitorial Products 101... do you know that they've got a can of lead paint still hidden in the back? And it looked like it'd been used recently."

"Kurt." The girl's eyes narrowed, her tone indicating that she was seeing right through his sarcasm. "Your hair... and your..." she gestured down from his face to his shoes.

"You just gestured to _all_ of me, Mercedes," Kurt said through pursed lips.

"You look like you let your dad choose your clothes. Blindfolded. Does this have something to do about why you didn't call me last night?" Black and sassy, even Mercedes had a motherly tone. It was usually welcome, but at the moment it was also sounding a lot like her pity tone, which Kurt hated with a passion.

"I just got busy last night, alright?" he said, already regretting how harsh he came off before turning around to face her. "What song did you end up choosing for your glee audition?"

"Nuhuh, boy. Since you didn't call me last night you get to be surprised along with everyone else. All I'm saying is that it's going to be fabulous." The glee sign-up had gone up on the bulletin just this Monday. Mercedes, Kurt, and at times Rachel, who'd been singing into hairbrushes since their monthly sleepovers had started in middle school, had taken the sign up sheet as a welcome escape from the idiocy that High School was proving to be. Sophomore year was no friend to those who were a little on the rounder side, openly gay as a dolphin, or wore sweaters with sheep knitted on the front.

"Guess I deserve that," he said easily, knowing better than to fall into the trap of being guilted by girl. "Rachel's still going with-"

"_On My Own_. Melodramatic and over the top, suits her just perfectly, don't you think?"

"Be nice, Mercedes, we're the only friends she's got," Kurt said, finally shutting his locker and slinging the strap of his book bag over his shoulder, finally looking the girl in the eye, letting out a sigh. "See you at lunch?"

"Always." With that, the girl sauntered off down the hall, Kurt regretfully turning his back and making his way down the opposite direction to Spanish, bracing himself as he turned the corner for the oncoming impact of 300 pounds of complete stupidity slamming into him.

He wasn't disappointed.

"See you in class, _fag._"

* * *

><p>Blaine Anderson had been at McKinley High for exactly four days and fifty two minutes, and apart from being tripped six times (he was still convinced that at least four of them had to have been accidents) things were going pretty smoothly. The shopping trip he'd taken with Rachel prior to the school year had supplied him with enough bowties to last him an entire two weeks. The hair gel had been surprisingly efficient in maintaining the bedazzled hobbit-like head of hair. (He was already a freshman and had yet to hit that promised growth spurt, and frankly, he really didn't need there to be anything else hobbit-like about him).<p>

Honestly, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure that everything Rachel had said about McKinley had to have been a lie. Yes, Ohio in general wasn't exactly the most receptive towards young dancing homosexuals (even _if_ the dancing was fabulous), and yes, he'd seen and heard enough of Kurt Hummel around the house during those highly-anticipated sleepover-days to know that gay bullying wasn't a thing of the past, but so far people had been surprisingly friendly. A boy who introduced himself as Jacob had already asked if he had a facebook (yes), a burly football player had asked what his favourite slushy flavour was (raspberry), and one of the cheerleaders had spent a good five minutes yesterday asking if hair gel was part of Blaine's natural hair colour.

Confusing? Yes. But kind? Also yes. Freshman year was looking like it would be smooth sailing from here to –

_Fag._

The word made Blaine stop in his tracks, rounding the corner only to find an almost completely deserted hallways, only to find a laughing football player sauntering off to class, and Kurt Hummel, huddled on the floor, back against the locker, covered in what was mistakenly an ice cold blueberry slushie.

_Oh._

Making his way over to his sister's best friend, Blaine stood just close enough so that his presence would be known, his mouth agape, unable to find the words.

"The worst part is that I can't even cover my face with my hands. Gets it in the eyes. Blueberry stings."

The quip was unmistakably _Kurt_-like. He'd heard enough of the sass during those sleepovers. "Wear that reindeer sweater to school one more time Rachel and I will make you one to wear with your hair. And it'll probably look better too." But there was something oddly resigned about him now huddled on the floor, covered in blue goop. "You look surprised," he said, finally giving the boy a look. "Didn't Rachel warn you? McKinley's no place for an oddball who can't tough it out." He swallowed. "Makes me wonder what I'm doing here."

The shift in tone was enough to shake Blaine from his reverie. Reaching a hand out to Kurt, he gripped the boy's hand tightly, pulling him up to stand, offering him a meek smile that Kurt could only just barely return.

"I'll have to start keep a change of clothes in my locker or something," he said, looking down at the blue stain splattered on his shirt. "Guess it's a good thing I look like an absolute trainwreck already."

"No you don't," Blaine said instantly. "You look beautiful."

As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn't. Kurt was Rachel's best friend. Her very sassy, surprisingly intolerant of idiocy, best friend in the entire world of best friends, and damn him why did he always have to go and make things so bloody awkward – granted it didn't tie for the time when he'd kissed Jeremiah on the cheek because he had pudding on it back in fifth grade but it still came pretty damn close.

Looking up, a hurried apology already on his lips, Blaine was shocked to find tears in Kurt's eyes.

After all, the boy had just been pushed into a locker, covered in something sticky and blue, and called – well, Blaine couldn't even think the word without visibly cringing. And yet being called beautiful was the thing that had brought about tears.

"I like your bowtie," he said after a while, reaching out to straighten the bright yellow fabric at his neck.

"Thanks. Rachel said yellow-"

"Oh God, never listen to Rachel when it comes to fashion. Ever. Haven't you lived with her long enough to know that?"

A small chuckle. Blaine ducked his head, looking down at his feet, his wide glasses sliding down to the end of his nose.

"I should probably... get to class."

"Yeah... I'm going to go rock a gym shirt for the rest of the day, see if I can salvage at least _part _of my hair."

Blaine could only nod, watching as Kurt walked past him and around the corner towards the locker room. It was probably a good thing. He'd been about to tell him that there was nothing that needed salvaging, that the boy was truly the prettiest human being Blaine Anderson had ever set his eyes on, and it wasn't like Blaine needed more reasons to embarrass himself in front of Rachel's – incredibly attractive – best friend.

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><p><strong>AN: Reviews are like cookies - you can never have enough. ;) Cheers lovelies!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to those of you who have added this story to your favorites/alerts. It's very touching and I appreciate it immensely. If you take the time to peruse the weirdness that has made its way out of my brain and onto the screen, please take the time to let me know your thoughts! This is all un-beta-ed, so any feedback is really appreciated! And I'm done. We all know that no one ever reads the A/N's anyway. *rolls eyes***

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or any of its characters. Cue tears.**

* * *

><p>"That was positively adorable."<p>

"_Rachel._"

"Can I ruffle your hair? No, seriously."

"What did we say about interrupt- Rachel move out of the way of the camera for-"

"Blaine, if I'm going to filming I get at least three minutes of screen time per shot. Now Kurt, I know you're my best gay and all that – no offence Blaine-"

"None taken-"

"But if you break my brother's heart I will personally come and take a pair of shearing scissors to every Alexander McQueen item you own, and then I will sew the remains into obscure animal shapes like llamas and hedgehogs and wear the remains on my sweater proudly like the Vikings did with their kills, only I won't actually kill you – that would be illegal."

_Face palm._ "Oh dear god."

"And furthermore, that yellow bowtie was _hideous_-"

"Alright _enough_ Rachel. Behind the camera. There. Good. Remind me never to ask for your help again."

"I am taking your comment and adding it to the ever-growing list of comments that merely indicate of how jealous everyone is of my talent."

"Would you please just film? _Please?_"

"Fine, fine. So. Kurt's gorgeous. Next?"

"You don't have to be so _crass_ about it. It's about more than physical appearances you know."

"Aww, that is so-"

"_Don't_ even think about it."

"..."

"Thank you. As I was saying. Reason number two...no Rachel, you cannot ruffle my hair!"

* * *

><p><em>You think I'm funny, when I tell the punch line wrong.<em>

Blaine _loved_ Christmas. He loved the carols and the cookies and the trees and the colours. He loved getting presents and giving presents and he loved that it was the only time of the year where he got to wear his bowtie covered in Santa Hats. Sometimes he also wore a Santa Hat. He loved singing 'Baby It's Cold Outside,' for the Kings Island Christmas Spectacular like he'd done every year since his voice had broken, even if the girl he sang it with was always just sharp enough to annoy him. He loved that his sister wore reindeer sweaters instead of sheep sweaters because it was the only animal that was acceptable on a sweater. He loved decorating the house with stockings and lights and _actually_ roasting chestnuts on an open fire while listening to Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire. He loved that it was the one time of the year where no one gave him funny looks when he randomly started jumping on furniture, because come on, it's _Christmas_ after all.

The McKinley high Glee Club had been invited to sing at the Lima Ohio Benefit for the children's hospital, so the majority of rehearsals had been focused on improving their ability to not kill each other in the middle of performances. If it wasn't Puck and Finn trying to prove who was manlier, it was Mercedes and Santana trying to out-sass each other. Quinn annoyed Tina, Tina bugged Santana, Santana infuriated Rachel, and Rachel...

Well, he was her brother, so he couldn't really be objective on the matter. But it was probably safe to say that not very many people liked Rachel, and they probably had a good reason for it.

And as much as he loved Glee club, it was hard enough trying to get a word in over Artie's rapping, Schuester's Journey renditions, and Mike's tap dancing. Which was why he took every Wednesday afternoon, during his one free period, to stow away to the auditorium and practice in silence. He already had to fight to be heard in his own house, in his classes, anywhere where he was surrounded by tall people, and now in Glee Club too. One hour a week where he felt like the entire world was stopping to listen surely wasn't too much to ask for, was it?

Apparently, it was.

He'd just finished belting out the final note of 'I'll be Home for Christmas,' chest heaving slightly, looking rather pleased with himself, when a sudden noise from the back of the auditorium rung out, startling him. For half a second he'd almost been convinced that the noise was applause. Almost.

"Hey there _fairy_." Azimio Adams stuffed his hands in the pockets of his red football jacket, making his way down the steps of the auditorium, David Karofsky and Shane Tinsley close behind. Blaine swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, eyes narrowing as the three approached.

"You guys lost?" he said, sounding a lot braver than he felt. A volcano of witty comebacks rose in his throat, but being scared out of your mind was no excuse for bad manners. Even if they didn't seem to be using the same conversational standards.

"Drama club used some of our equipment last period, Coach sent us here to get it back," Shane offered by way of explanation. It was the most words Blaine had ever heard him say in one breath, but he resisted the urge to say that too. "Probably gonna have to run it through a sanitizer before we use it. Don't wanna be catching no fairy dust."

He wasn't quite sure how it happened – probably because he'd been humming the theme song from the Three Stooges under his breath – but quite suddenly they were on the stage, and Blaine instinctively took a step back. "Look, I don't want any trouble here. I think I saw your helmets around the corner-"

"Man, do I look stupid to you?" Azimio said.

Blaine swallowed, speaking before the words had fully processed in his head. "Is that a rhetorical question?"

"Aren't you just-" the footballer lunged, held back only by Karofsky, who forcefully pushed Azimio back, Blaine taking another full step away, his back quite suddenly against the stage wall.

"Your kind don't belong here, lady," Azimio sneered, pulling his arm away from Karofsky's grip. "It ain't right, a bunch of homos running around – singing and dancing and jumping every self-respecting man they can get."

"Trust me, you're not my type," Blaine said. As soon as the words left his mouth, he was mentally berating himself for his idiocy. When was he going to learn to keep his damn mouth _shut?_

"I oughta-" he lunged again, but this time Tinsley was the one to push him back. Shane Tinsley was a lot quieter, a lot larger, and probably a lot stupider than the rest of the group put together. He was also twice as frightening.

"Man, the kid's three feet tall. One hit'll shatter his face and then you'll be slummin' it in detention for the rest of junior year." Blaine swallowed, his entire back up against the stage wall, his head throbbing slightly from when he'd try to back away further just seconds ago and hit his head against the painted brick. Azimio gave a grunt of acknowledgment, pulling away for the second time and straightening the collar of his jacket, while Tinsley gave the boy a peculiar look, a sudden smile on his face. "Nah, man, I got better plans for this one."

Blaine gulped.

* * *

><p>"Have any of you seen Blaine?"<p>

Glee rehearsal was chaotic, as usual. Mike was unsuccessfully trying to teach Artie a body roll. (The reason it was so unsuccessful was namely due to the fact that Artie was confined to a wheel chair). Brittany was trying to explain the concept of Unicorn mating to Kurt. ('So then the glitter goes flying out of their horns and they dance around to the theme song of My Little Pony'). Santana was snapping her gum surprisingly on beat to Puck's guitar riffs, and Tina was trading fashion tips with Mercedes ('Girl, I don't care how much gold is at the end of the damn rainbow, I'm keepin' this colour _natural, _ya hear?') As was also the usual, the only one who bothered to pay Rachel any attention was Finn, the young, rather naive quarterback of McKinley's dismal football team who had only recently outgrown his habit of throwing people into dumpsters.

"I stopped keeping tabs on little Jiminy Cricket when he told me how nice my hair was two months ago," Santana said promptly.

"Wait, why is that a bad thing?" Tina asked, turning to face the latina.

"I wasn't wearing a bra at the time." The girl shrugged, blowing a particularly large pink bubble that clashed horribly with her cheerios uniform and letting it pop with a satisfying _snap. _"He's probably getting his Frodo on with someone equally short and hobbit-like."

"I thought frodo was a brand of yogurt." Brittany, fuelling the fire for blonde jokes everywhere, looked up to Quinn for confirmation. The head cheerleader merely shook her head, causing Brittany to sigh, slumping back in her chair. "That's not right, is it?"

"No, honey," Quinn said, patting the girl's shoulder.

"No, no, Blaine _promised _he would meet at my locker before Glee rehearsal and he's _never_ late – he has a free period at the end of the day and he _knows_ how much I dislike waiting around for people. I mean, I practically trained him in his punctuality."

"Get to the point Mary," Puck said, rolling his eyes.

"The _point_ is that he always goes to the auditorium during his free period and then meets me at my locker and then we go to Glee. But he's not at my locker and he's not at _his_ locker and the only people in the Auditorium were those football players – David and Azimio and what's his name? Shane?"

At the mention of the football players Kurt suddenly sat very straight in his seat, eyes narrowing in Rachel's direction.

"I'm telling you, he's probably macking out with a fellow fairy in the janitor's closet or something. I'd suggest FrankinFinn over here, but he's present and accounted for."

"Hey!"

"Wrong on both counts Santana. Blaine isn't gay, because if he were, he would've told me. And he wouldn't go anywhere near the janitor's closet, because he's clausterpho-" But before she could so much as finish her sentence, Kurt instantly stood up, the music folder on his lap clattering to the floor as he ran out of the choir room.

"Kurt, where are you going? I'm just about to start formal interrogations!"

* * *

><p>"Blaine?" Kurt's voice echoed down the now empty halls of McKinley. Most of the students had filed out as soon the clock had struck three. It was nearing half past now, and the only sound to be heard was the occasional tinkling of Christmas bells attacked to every other doorknob, and the faint notes of <em>Jingle Jazz<em> emanating from Mrs. Masterson's boombox as she set about to correct her Senior Class English Papers. Rounding the all too familiar corner and making his way to the janitor's closet, Kurt called out again, a little louder this time. "Blaine?"

He didn't hear a call back, and took the momentary silence to briefly contemplate if he'd been overreacting. Kurt didn't even know Rachel's little brother all that well, but from the few months he'd seen of him in Glee rehearsals, and the occasional appearance at Rachel's monthly sleepovers, he was pretty convinced that even if the boy _wasn't_ gay, his appreciation of Marion Cotillard's Vogue (which extended well beyond the average teenage boy appreciation of a nice rack) was probably enough for any football player to target him regardless. Maybe the boy had just gone home to avoid Rachel - he was Rachel's best friend and he certainly tired of her more than once in a twenty-four period, he couldn't imagine what it must be like to _live_ with her.

"_Hello?"_

Kurt froze, a muted but familiar voice interrupting his thoughts.

A choked sob. And then, _"Is anyone there?" _

"Blaine?"

Another sob. Heavy breathing. _"Get me out of here. Please."_

Kurt closed the three feet of distance between himself and the janitor door, fumbling for the knob. "It's locked."

A sudden thump at the door caused the older boy to jump slightly. He couldn't make out what Blaine said next through the panicked tears.

"Hold on, Blaine," Kurt said, his own voice nearing desperation as he clawed at the doorknob again. "Back away from the door, okay?"

"_Okay. Please hurry."_

With as much force as he could muster, Kurt slammed his shoulder against the door, to no avail. Again. And again. "It won't budge."

"_I'm scared_."

"Don't worry, Blaine, nothing's going to happen to you," Kurt said firmly, though he was just as unsure as the boy on the otherside of the door. "I'm going to go find someone to open it, okay?"

"_No!"_ the sudden outburst caused Kurt to jump for the second time that day. "_Please don't leave me. Please."_

"I left my phone in the choir room," Kurt said, his voice edging on desperate. "I'll just be one minute. Sixty seconds, okay?"

"_Okay._"

"You can count. Okay? Just, count to sixty."

"_Okay." _

Kurt visibly winced. Every time Blaine spoke, his voice sounded smaller and smaller. "Count out loud. Come on. One... two..."

"_One... two... three..."_

The next sixty seconds, and the following hours after, were a blur to Kurt Hummel. By the time he started his moisturizing routine later that night, he wouldn't have been able to tell you how quickly he'd run back to the choir room, only to return exactly forty three seconds later with Puck and Finn in tow, and the rest of New Directions behind them. He wouldn't have been able to tell you how it had taken four surprisingly forceful slams to the door and one well-placed high kick on Santana's part to finally burst the thing open, or how the entire Glee club had spent the next hour recounting the events to Mr. Schuester, or how Blaine hadn't spoken so much as a syllable the entire time, his bowtie dishevelled and hair escaping the confines of its gelled prison, not even to tell Mr. Schuester who had done it, though everyone knew _exactly_ who was responsible. In fact, the only thing Kurt could and would ever remember from that day was the look on Blaine's face when he'd opened the door, tears streaking down his face as he launched himself at the only familiar figure in the crowd, wrapping his arms around Rachel and clinging to stretched yarn of her reindeer sweater so tightly that it was astounding he'd ever managed to let go.

* * *

><p>Following the events at school, Mr. Schuester cancelled Glee club rehearsal, allowing Rachel and Blaine to immediately head home in Kurt's car, as they did every Wednesday. After making Rachel promise that she wouldn't recount the disaster to their parents, Blaine spent the rest of the night locked up in his room, lying flat on his bed with his school clothes still on, listening to Pink's newest album. His eyes still hurt from the hour he'd spent crying, and his head was still sore from when he'd bumped it earlier, but the overall redness in his eyes and cheeks had started to subside. With a sigh, he turned around onto his side to face the window, one hand under his pillow, only to find the glaringly pale, smiling face of Kurt Hummel staring back at him.<p>

"Kurt?" Blaine whispered, sitting up, taking a quick glance at the clock – just a quarter past eight. Puzzled, he rubbed his eyes, wondering if his slight attraction to the older boy had suddenly reached insane levels. Unable to speak, the boy merely motioned to the window, motioning for Blaine to come and open it. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Blaine made his way to the window, carefully easing it open, watching as Kurt easily clambered over the window sill and into his room, brushing _leaves_ out of the knitted black sweater. The boy looked akin to a very well dressed ninja, complete with a black beret on top. Blaine blinked at him, completely unable to process what was going on.

"You haven't changed yet? You really should get on that, you reek of Mr. Clean and detergent," the boy said simply, making his way over to Blaine's closet and moving through the rack of clothes.

"Er... Kurt?"

"Yes Blaine?" Kurt replied, without turning away from the closet, throwing a pair of black jeans onto the bed without giving so much as a glance.

"Don't take this the wrong way... but what're you doing?"

"I'm finding you something to wear. It's bloody cold outside, by the way. Here." A pair of thick black socks was suddenly launched in Blaine's direction. Fumbling to catch it, the younger boy continued to watch, mouth hanging open, as Kurt tore through the closet.

"But how did you even get to my window?"

"I climbed the tree." Well, that explained the leaves. Blaine turned to see the large oak tree, one branch in particular stretched out just over the slant in the roof that led up to Blaine's window. Another thud. Kurt turned finally, admiring the outfit before him. "Brilliant. Go put that on, and make it quick. I told my dad I'd be back by nine.

Far past the point of questioning Kurt, Blaine began to pull off his shirt in favour for the black tee and black sweater that Kurt had set on the bed. The older boy had pointedly turned around to give the boy some privacy, only turning once more once Blaine had cleared his throat, indicating that he was fully clothed. At the sight of the boy, now dressed in complete black, Kurt clapped his hands together happily. "Brilliant. Shame you don't have a hat. But I suppose that'll do." He was already making his way to the window, Blaine's confused look still plastered on his face.

"Kurt, wait, where are we _going_?"

"We're going to egg Azimio's car."

Silence. And then...

"Do I need gloves to hide fingerprints?"

Kurt pulled out a pair of cheap black gloves from his pocket, throwing them at Blaine and giving him a wink as he ducked out of the window and onto the tree branch before dropping out of sight onto the lawn below. Not even a millisecond's worth of hesitation later, Blaine stuffed the gloves into his pocket and followed.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you know where he lives?"<p>

"It's _Lima_, Blaine. We could run a census to count the number of ants in this backwater town. It's right up the street I think..."

"How did you even get his address?"

"I called his house saying that I was confirming his subscription for _Muscle Monthly_."

Blaine snorted. "_Muscle Monthly?_"

"I couldn't think of anything else on the spot. Right around... there!"

Sure enough, the gleaming red Camero Azimio Adams had bragged about for _months_ stood before them, parked just in front of the house. The entire street was dead, the lights were off, and suddenly the carton of eggs in Blaine's lap felt like dynamite.

Parking across the street, Kurt turned off the engine of his Cadillac Escalade, patting the hood as he walked around to open the door for Blaine, lending him a hand and gently tugging him out of the passenger seat. "Come on then Clyde."

"Kurt, what if someone walks out?" Blaine asked, looking up and down the street nervously.

"He's at a football game now, relax. Carton please." Kurt held out his hand, waited until Blaine had set it in his open palm, and then carefully opened it up, the scratching of his gloves against the Styrofoam ringing out noisily in the otherwise dead street. Pulling out an egg from the middle of the dozen, Kurt held it out for Blaine. "I think you deserve the honours. But six of these are _mine_."

Blaine looked at the egg in his hand, then to the car, then back at Kurt, his expression unsure. "Maybe we shouldn't do this."

Kurt sighed, shrugging simply. "Like I said, six of these are mine. You can make an omelette with your six if you really want." Taking an egg for his own, he felt it experimentally in his hand, throwing it up in the air once and catching it. "That's very big of you, you know, to consider his feelings. Especially after you spent two hours locked in a janitor's closet."

Blaine gave Kurt a sideways glance, steeling his expression, and without warning suddenly launched his egg at the car hood, watching with fascination as the egg splattered.

Kurt let out a breath, nodding. "Not bad." And then launched his own so that it splattered adjacent to Blaine's to form a pair of gooey yellow eyes.

Blaine let out a large laugh, suddenly covering his mouth and flitting his eyes around to make sure no one had heard, before whispering, "That was awesome."

Kurt nodded, holding out the carton. "Bet you five bucks you can't hit the license plate from here."

They launched their yolk-filled revenge until the carton was empty, and when it was, stood in the middle of the empty street and laughed loud and hard until the neighbours lights turned on. Even as they clambered into the car, the wheels screeching as Kurt hit the gas, they were laughing still, right up until the moment that Kurt pulled up in front of Blaine's house, they laughed until for the second time that day tears fell from Blaine's eyes, his cheeks red, his hair completely disheveled, clutching his stomach and bending over as his and Kurt's laughter echoed into the dead of night, and it wasn't until Blaine had finally clambered up the tree and back into his bed that he realized that not even the pitch black memory of the janitor's closet could keep the smile off his face.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Every reviewer gets a hug. A big one. And chocolate. Well... imaginary chocolate. But it's still delicious, I swear!**


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